


Creatures of the Night

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: AU, John comes in a while later, Johnlock - Freeform, Multi, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlolly - Freeform, takes place in America, the plot may change from the show's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say we stop looking for the monsters under our beds once we realize they’re in our heads. From a young age, we are taught that monsters aren’t real, that under a bed or in a closet is an impractical place for any creature to live. Well, you were lied to, because monsters are very much real, and this world’s crawling with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

 

 

**LAWRENCE, KANSAS**

**22 Years Ago**

“Come On, let’s say goodnight to your brother, Mycroft.” Wanda Holmes said, holding her 4 year old ginger son with one arm as she flipped on the switch to the room they’d entered, revealing a small baby curled up in a crib.

  “Goodnight, Sherlock.” Mycroft said quietly, bending over the crib’s bars to give his little brother a kiss on the head. Timothy Holmes smiled from the doorway as he watched his wife and sons.

  Upon realizing that their father was home, Mycroft ran across the room into his father’s arms. “Hey buddy!” Timothy said with a smile. “So, you think Sherlock is ready to kick around the old’ soccer ball yet?”

  “No daddy!” Mycroft giggled with a dramatic shake of his head. Wanda flipped the light switch back off and led her husband and eldest son out of the room, Sherlock cooing quietly. As the three left, the ticking clock on the wall stopped, the musical box sitting on the dresser slowed it’s music, and the nightlights on the walls began to flicker.

  Wanda heard Sherlock’s cries on the baby monitor next to her bed. “Tim, can you go check on him?” she said with a yawn. After a moment of silence and no movement, she turned over to see if her husband was there, but he wasn’t. Wanda sighed and threw the sheets off of herself, slowly climbing out of bed. She groggily walked up to the nursery, only to find that her husband’s silhouette standing over Sherlock’s crib.

  “Tim is he hungry?” she asked with a yawn. Her question was met with her husband shushing her. Wanda shrugged and walked away, rubbing her eyes from tiredness. A flickering light in the hall near the stairs caught her eye, and she walked over to it, giving it a good tap before it stopped flickering. Indistinct voices from the television could be heard from down stairs, and she sighed, figuring her husband had forgotten to turn it off again. She walked down the stairs with the intention of turning it off, but as she got to the last steps, the bright glow of the television illuminated the room, showing Tim asleep on the couch, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took. Wanda gasped and ran back up the stairs, believing her baby was in danger.

  “Sherlock! Sherlock!”  she cried out as she ran.

  Timothy was woken by the sound of his wife’s scream all throughout the house. He leaped up off of the couch and ran upstairs, calling out her name. He pushed the door to Sherlock’s nursery open and ran in, only to find no one there but little Sherlock, cooing in his crib.

  “Hey, Sher, everything okay?” he asked softly, smiling as his son reached up with a hand. Tim reached out his hands to pick up his son, but something warm fell onto the back of it, making him stop. He stared at the red spot, confused at first, and then another drop fell. He looked up slowly, freezing when he saw the source of what could only be blood. There, held up against the ceiling, was his wife, Wanda, face frozen in fear, and nightgown soaked in blood. A second later, her body engulfed into flames. Timothy grabbed his now screaming baby, running out into the hallway.

  “Daddy!” Mycroft called out as he ran from his room, confused about what was going on.

  “Take your brother and run!” ordered Timothy, handing Mycroft his little brother before rushing back into the nursery for his wife, but it was too late. Flames engulfed the room, and Tim was forced back out.

  “It’s going to be okay, Sher,” Mycroft said as he held his crying brother, looking up at their house quickly going up in flames.

  “Mycroft!” their father called out as he ran from the house, grabbing his sons and pulling them away before the house exploded.

  By the time the fire department had arrived, it was too late. Policemen held back curious neighbors, and attempted to question Timothy Holmes about what had happened, but they soon gave up as they realized the man had been the a traumatic event and now had two young children to comfort. It was that night, that Timothy Holmes realized that monsters where real, and it was that night that he swore to find the monster that killed his wife, and get revenge, by whatever means necessary.


	2. Chapter 2

 

**STAMFORD UNIVERSITY**

**Present Day**

  “Here’s to Sherlock and his awesome LSAT victory!” Molly proclaimed, raising her shot into the air as she took a seat.

  “It’s no big deal, really.” Sherlock said, barely being heard through all the talking and music that filled the dimly lit club they were in.

  “He says it like it’s nothing, but he scored a 174.” She said with a proud smile.

  “All right, Sherlock!”  Mike said, giving him a pat on the back. “You can go anywhere you want!”

  “It was quiet simple, really. And I have an interview scheduled here Monday.” Sherlock said with a hint of pleasure in his voice. “If it goes good, I’ll have a shot at a full ride next year.”

  “You’ll do great.” Molly said reassuringly. Sherlock gave her a small smile.

  “So, how’s it feel to be the golden boy of the family?” Mike asked. Sherlock’s smile faltered and he looked down for a moment.

  “I haven’t really told them yet.”

  “Why not? I’d be gloating my ass off! Hey, I’m going to go get us some more shots!”

  “Mike… Mike, no. No, no, no, no Mike… “Molly attempted to call out, but it was no use, Mike had already gotten lost in the crowd. She turned back to Sherlock and sighed.

  “Hey, you’re going to do good tomorrow.” She said smiling, giving him a quick kiss before pulling him into the group of dancing people.

 

  Sherlock rolled over in bed, head throbbing from all the partying the night before. There was a slight shuffling noise coming from downstairs in his apartment, and Sherlock’s eyes flew wide open. He slowly slid out of bed, careful not to wake Molly, who had been sleeping near him, and crept out of the room. He made his way downstairs in the dark, stopping at the doorway to the kitchen to listen. There was a soft thud, barely even noticeable, but Sherlock had heard it. He took a deep breath before lunging out of the doorway and into the kitchen, meeting his intruder head on. Sherlock managed to get a few punches and kicks at the intruder before they grabbed him and tried to push him down. Sherlock made a feeble attempt to hold onto something, keeping him from going to the ground. His hand met something soft and squishy sitting on the counter. His hand knocked it off the counter, and a moment later he heard the sound of porcelain hitting tile. Sherlock lay there, pinned to the ground and helpless.

  “You’ve gotten weak, haven’t you, brother dearest?” said an all too familiar voice.

  “Mycroft?” Sherlock said, trying not to let his voice show his confusion.

  “A pity, I thought you’d be more of a challenge.” Mycroft said with a sniff. Sherlock grabbed his brother by the shirt, catching him off guard, and pushed him to the side. Sherlock quickly rolled over and pinned his brother down with his knee.

  “Maybe it’s you that’s gone weak,” Sherlock said with a smirk,” brother dearest.”  Mycroft chuckled and pushed Sherlock away, getting himself up off the floor and promptly dusting off himself and smoothing out the wrinkles in his white button down shirt.

  “What a waste,” Mycroft said as he flipped on the lights in the room, revealing a relatively large piece of chocolate cake that had fallen to the floor, along with its plate’s many pieces spread across the floor.

  “Really, Mycroft?” Sherlock judged as he grabbed a broom from a closet, extending it to his brother, expecting him to clean up the mess. Mycroft glared at Sherlock before he accepted the broom and began to clean up the mess.

  “So,” Sherlock started, leaning against the fridge as he watched his older brother,” what _are_ you doing here?”

  There was a creak from outside the room and the two brothers looked up quickly to find the source of the noise. A tired Molly stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her brown hair tangled and sticking out at odd angles. “Sherlock?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

  “Uh, Mycroft, this is my girlfriend, Molly.” Sherlock nodded in Molly’s direction and smiled slightly.

  “Wait, your brother Mycroft?” Molly asked, suddenly lighting up as she looked at the ginger man scrambling to get up off her kitchen floor.

  “Finally found yourself a goldfish, did you?” Mycroft said, looking Molly over as if to determine whether she was deemed worthy of Sherlock or not.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to need to borrow your… boyfriend.” He said with a tight lipped smile. “We have a bit of family business to take care of.”  As Mycroft attempted to guide his brother away, Sherlock stopped and simply stated, ”No.”

  Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Anything you have to say, you can say in front of Molly.” Sherlock declared, taking a place next to Molly and crossing his arms. Mycroft frowned.

  “Okay,” he sighed. “Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.”

  “So what, he’s working overtime on a ‘Miller Time’ shift. He’s a grown man; he can take care of himself.”

  “Let me rephrase that,” Mycroft said, giving a false smile as he grabbed his grey umbrella from its resting place and twirled it around a bit,” Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

  Molly looked up at her boyfriend when he didn’t respond. “Molly, could you excuse us?” Sherlock finally said. She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it quickly again, having nothing to say. She gave Sherlock’s hand a reassuring squeeze before going back up to bed. “What was he hunting?” Sherlock asked once Molly was out of earshot. Mycroft smiled a genuine, if only slight, smile.

 

  “Lost Creek, Colorado.” Mycroft said, pulling out a file full of missing peoples’ reports from the trunk of a 1967 Chevy Impala.

  “Dad let you go on a hunt without him?” Sherlock asked as Mycroft skimmed through the contents of the folder.

  “I’m 26, Sherlock. Surely your math still works. Now look,” he said, pulling the first page out and handing it to Sherlock. “Two hikers have been reported missing this past April, Joan Crawford and Henry Smith.”

  “This is hardly a case, Mycroft. Two hikers going missing in that large of a forest aren’t unheard of.”

  “Before that, in 1982, seven different people vanished in the same year. All had entered Black Water’s forest. Six bodies were found, authorities saying it was a grizzly attack. Same scenario in 1959 and 1936—“

  “Every 23 years.” Sherlock said to himself, realizing what he was now being dragged into.

  “Dad went to go check it out about two and a half weeks ago, haven’t heard from him since. Then I get this,” Mycroft pulled out his phone and held it up between the two of them, playing a voicemail.

 **“Myc, there’s something big going on. I need to find out what it is,”** it was their father’s voice. He was breathing heavily and his voice trembled slightly. Indistinct noises could be heard in the background. **“Be careful, Myc. We’re all in danger.”** The voicemail ended, and the two brothers looked at each other.

  “Did you check for EVP on that?” Sherlock asked.

  “I’m glad college didn’t take away all your hunting skills.” Sherlock glared at him. ”Alright, I slowed the message down and put it through GoldWave, took out the static and this came through-“ he clicked a button on the phone, and a loud roaring sound, unlike that of any natural animal, was heard. Of course, Sherlock and Mycroft didn’t hunt natural animals.

  “For two years, Sherlock, I never bothered you or asked you for a thing,” Mycroft said, pulling down the trunk of the Impala. Sherlock looked back at his apartment and sighed.

  “Alright, I’ll come. But I have to be back, first thing Monday. Wait here,” Sherlock said, finally giving in. He turned back to the apartment, before being stopped by Mycroft’s words.

  “You have an interview, don’t you? Don’t act so surprised Sherlock, I can tell by the way you’ve been acting.”

  “You can’t stop me, Mycroft. This is my future laid out in front of me, and I’m going to take.” Sherlock said defiantly, standing up straighter.

  “I’m sure you’ll make the right choice.” Mycroft said quietly. He nodded towards the door. “Now go tell your girl goodbye.”

 

  “Don’t worry, Molly, it’s just a little family drama.” Sherlock lied as he shoved both his underwear and silver knives into a duffle bag.

  “But, your brother said he was on a hunting trip?” Molly said, pulling her cat, Toby, onto her lap as she sat down on the bed.

  “Ah, yeah. He’s out deer hunting up at the cabin. Probably has George, Jim, and Jesus with him. We just got to go bring him back.”

  “And your interview?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. This is just for a couple days. I’ll make it.” He lied again, slinging the duffle bag over his shoulder as he headed to the door.

  “Stop for a moment, Sherlock.” Molly said sternly, getting up and walking to her boyfriend. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Everything’s going to be fine. I promise.” He said before kissing her on the cheek. Then, he headed out the door to join Mycroft, who was already sitting in the front seat of the car, keys in the ignition and ready to go.


End file.
